


Holding Hands

by Emphyrio



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphyrio/pseuds/Emphyrio
Summary: Spock never really explained the whole Vulcan hand sex thing to Kirk, so he decides to demonstrate.





	Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This work was a commission piece for user RadioactivePeaches.

Kirk’s hands would not have been considered attractive on Vulcan. The fingers were proportionally short, the flesh soft around thick knuckles and stubbly (if well-manicured) nails. They held none of the ethereally elegant delicacy so highly sought after, and, despite their training, were nowhere near as dexterous as a Vulcan’s digits. And certainly they possessed none of the implications of a Vulcan hand, neither the biological nor the cultural. 

And yet Spock thought he had never seen a more beautiful pair of hands. He didn’t fully articulate this, even in his own brain, and if he did it was quickly silenced by the rest of his mind. But he was in fact quite…fascinated by them. The way they deftly manipulated controls in a manner that their stockiness belied. Their flippant disregard for precision, or perhaps simply an innate clumsiness that Kirk subconsciously tried to pass off as purposeful. At once their utter softness and their weathered adaptability that seemed to embody the Captain himself. 

“Mister Spock.”

Spock shook his head and looked up from the gently curled fingers at which he had been staring. Warm golden eyes were staring expectantly up at him from where Kirk was leaning on the padded railing. “I asked you a question,” Kirk said, impatiently but not unkindly.

“Of course, sir,” Spock replied in the most neutral, obedient tone he could muster. The illogically attractive appendages were still resting on the red vinyl and he deliberately kept his eyes away from them. The part of his brain that had been actually listening to Kirk took over. “The scanners show gravity pulses emanating from what is likely either a collapsing star or a black hole many light years away. They appear to be of sufficient force to cause turbulence, but damage will likely be minimal.” 

“Thank you,” Kirk replied, flashing his dangerously charming half-smile. He returned to his chair and Spock turned back around to his station and attempted to keep his mind on his work.

 

It was determined over an hour later that neither the Captain nor his First Officer had taken a shift off in about four rotations, and that they were both going to be subject to the wrath of a certain kindly family doctor if this was not remedied. Grudgingly, Kirk handed the bridge over to Sulu, with orders to minimize potential turbulence. Chekov leapt up and took over Spock’s place at the science station even before Spock was fully clear of it. 

“Come on, Spock,” Kirk said with a wry smirk, gesturing for Spock to follow him to the turbolift, “let’s not invoke the, ah, more protective side of the good physician.” 

Despite Kirk’s head start, Spock’s long legs carried him to the turbolift so that he and Kirk entered at nearly the same instant. Their bodies pressed together for a warm second as they squeezed through the door. Kirk looked inquisitively at Spock. “Where to?” He grasped the lever and continued without waiting for a response. “I was going to head to my quarters, but if you’d rather get a few games of chess in before Bones catches us…?” He left the question hanging. Spock considered. 

“As a Vulcan, I need less rest than you. Therefore a chess game would likely result in a victory on my part. As, logically, you are less functional at the moment,” he clarified. 

“That sounds like a challenge, Mister Spock.” 

“I did not mean it as such, sir.” 

“Very well. Chess it is.” 

Kirk twisted the lever with a grin and the two zoomed down to the rec room. Spock was gazing at the wall rather absently, and so he did not notice that Kirk was staring at him for a good few seconds. He turned and Kirk leaned in suddenly towards him. Spock shied away instinctively. Kirk shifted his weight back, apparently disappointed.

“Didn’t mean to take you by surprise there,” he said semi-apologetically. “I just thought… since we’re both off-duty…”

Spock shook his head. 

“I did not mean to discourage you. Some things are simply…hard to get used to.”

Kirk smiled. 

“Well then, do you mind if I try again?”

Spock gave the tiniest of smiling nods. Kirk, attempting to hide the fact that he had to stand on his toes, leaned into Spock and pressed his warm lips to the Vulcan’s chilly ones. Both of them closed their eyes, but both had them forced back open almost immediately by the jolt of the turbolift landing. Kirk pulled back from Spock with a slow sigh and they assumed professionally detached positions lest anybody see them. Luckily, the hallway was empty when the doors hissed open. 

The two strode out of the lift, both preparing their admittedly tired minds for the game. Actually, Kirk wasn’t thinking about chess, just sort of daydreaming sleepily about stars and Spock and such, but he wasn’t awake enough to realize this. Spock was trying his very hardest to think about chess and not about the person he was going to be playing chess against. He didn’t want his strategy to be interrupted. 

And then the entire hallway jerked to the right and they were both thrown against the wall. Kirk managed to get a hold on the edge of the intersection and so stayed upright, but Spock had no such luck and his long frame went tumbling to the ground. The room stabilized after a second but both their heads were still spinning. Kirk exhaled through his teeth and released his grip on the wall.

“I thought I told Sulu to compensate for turbulence. What the hell are they doing up there?”

As he realized that neither of them were seriously hurt, his annoyance faded and was replaced by mild amusement. Spock was still on the floor, apparently dazed. Kirk smiled and extended a friendly hand down towards him. Spock felt a rush of chilly dopamine spill down his spine. He hesitated, but still reached up to grasp the proffered aid. 

Kirk’s skin was deceptively velvety for all its harsh adventures. His plump fingers seemed to melt as they clasped Spock’s bony digits in tight embrace. Spock grasped back firmly and pulled himself up to stand. He tried to catch his breath, not realizing he was gripping Kirk’s hand a tad tightly until Kirk looked at him in perplexity. Spock released his grip and let both hands drop as his brain began to put itself back together. 

“You okay, Spock?” Kirk asked, eyebrows knit in concern. 

“I…” Spock started, then stopped. He had thought he had not sustained any damage in the fall, and yet he did not seem to be functioning at full capacity. He detected that his heart rate was elevated, his blood pressure was climbing, and, despite the fact that the corridors normally felt chilly to him, he was growing warm. “I am uninjured,” he said haltingly, “but I believe I should return to my quarters.”

Kirk looked at him curiously, not failing to note the sudden green flush of Spock’s complexion. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I could call Bones down if—”

“That will not be necessary, Captain. I merely wish to retire to my quarters.” 

“Of course, whatever you need,” Kirk said, although he was clearly still worried. Spock nodded, flustered, and walked briskly back towards the turbolift. He hesitated before entering and turned half around.

“I regret that we will not get to our chess game,” he said, his tone incredibly apologetic for a Vulcan. Kirk smiled with a mixture of pity and affection.

“Don’t worry, Spock. I can beat you after we’ve both had a chance to rest.” 

Spock almost smiled, but hid his face by turning back towards the lift. He entered and rode alone to his quarters, leaving Kirk to contemplate in silence. 

 

Eventually, the doctor did manage to round them both up and subject them to long overdue checkups. Spock, bored as he always was during these things, lay on an examination table in his tight black undershirt while the doctor checked his vitals and ribbed him about the number of ribs he had. Just when Spock thought the exam was over and he could go back to his station, the sick bay doors hissed open. In strode Kirk, tight green shirt wrapped around his gently curved torso. He smiled sympathetically to see Spock on the examination table. McCoy glanced over at Kirk, then apparently became distracted by some new development on his medical scanner. Spock turned his head on the table to look at the Captain, who was standing with his hands on his hips. 

“How is he, Bones?” Kirk asked. “No life-threatening developments since the last time you forced him onto that table?”

McCoy peered at the panel above Spock’s head. 

“No,” he said, “no, I’m pretty sure he’s fine.” 

Kirk nodded approvingly. 

“Good. How much longer until you plan on setting him free? We have work to do, you know.”

“Oh, not too much longer. Actually,” he said as if suddenly inspired, “you could help me out if you want to.”

Kirk laughed in surprise. 

“I thought you were the doctor here.” 

“I am,” McCoy replied. “And this is my sick bay. So help me or get out.” 

“Yes, sir,” Kirk replied in mock servility. He marched to Bones’s side. “Orders, sir?” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. He pointed to a spot on Spock’s bare forearm. 

“I need you to apply pressure there while I take some readings. Think you can handle that?” 

Kirk followed the directions with mock precision. His soft fingertips pressed disconcertingly gently into Spock’s bare flesh. Spock was non-plussed by the entire procedure. It did not seem to have any medical significance whatsoever. McCoy studied the panel and gave a soft grunt of interest. “Alright,” he said in his most professional voice, “now I’m going to need you to grasp his hand. If you don’t mind, that is,” he added drolly. 

“Is this standard procedure, doctor?” Kirk asked, perplexed but rather amused. 

“Are you gonna listen to me or are you gonna leave?”

Kirk shrugged and picked up Spock’s suddenly tense hand. He squeezed it gently and Spock had to blink for quite a long time to keep from reacting. This procedure definitely did not have any medical justification. McCoy glanced down at Spock’s face with what looked almost like a self-righteous smirk, then back up at the panel. 

“That’ll be sufficient, Jim. Now get the hell out of here so I can finish the exam.” 

“Not even a thank you?”

“Leave, please, or I’ll keep your First Officer here for another half a day.”

“Point taken. Hopefully I’ll see you soon,” he said to Spock before turning around. Spock didn’t have a reply. His throat was too tight to express one anyhow. He looked up and saw McCoy standing over him, looking extremely reproachful and yet still rather amused. Spock swallowed in an attempt to clear his throat so he could talk. 

“What exactly do you find to be the problem, doctor?” 

“You, you goddamn idiot!” McCoy burst out in mingled exasperation and mirth. 

Spock frowned.

“I see no reason to refer to me as such.”

“Then you really are an idiot. Have you not told him?” Bones cried incredulously. He swung the exam table so Spock could step off it. Spock did so and stood with his arms behind his back. He was growing rather cold as the doctor proceeded, his heart pounding against his side. He guessed that the tips of his ears were growing verdant. McCoy chuckled. “I can’t believe I got him to hold your hand! Hot damn, what a coup. Probably be arrested for it on Vulcan, too. Good thing we’re here in civilization.” 

Spock’s hands fidgeted uncomfortably behind his back. 

“And god damn.” Bones exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “If you’re an idiot, than Jim is an even bigger one. You’re perfect for each other!” 

Spock inhaled deeply. 

“Doctor, if I am not ill or injured—”

“Oh, you’re sick all right. Do you know what I saw on your vitals? Accelerated heart rate, blood pressure almost detectable by human standards; enough adrenaline coursing through those icy veins to fuel a Kentucky Derby champion. But don’t worry,” he assured Spock, shaking a finger, “I’ve got just the cure.”

He left Spock standing perplexedly in the ward and rummaged around in his cabinet. He returned with a dusty glass bottle containing a dark brown liquid. “Take this,” he said, pressing it into Spock’s bemused hands. “And go talk to Jim.”

Bones turned around as if to leave and then stopped. “Actually,” he said suddenly, “I don’t believe I can trust you to do that on your own.” He crossed to the communicator panel and activated it. “McCoy to Captain Kirk,” he said. A voice crackled through in reply.

“Kirk here. What is it, Bones?”

“Can you make it down to sick bay? It’s about Spock.”

“Is it serious?”

McCoy looked across at Spock, whose lips were parted in what appeared to be shock.

“It might be.”

“Of course I’ll get down there, but didn’t you just kick me out?”

“Just come down.” 

“All right. Kirk out.” 

McCoy clicked off the communicator and turned to face Spock smugly, arms crossed. Spock set down the bottle gingerly on a nearby table and fixed the doctor with an irritated stare. McCoy produced two small glasses and set them definitively on the desk. He retrieved the bottle with a reproachful glance at Spock and poured two generous helpings of the dark liquid, which Spock assumed was some sort of very strong alcohol, into them. Spock raised an eyebrow but did nothing, unsure of the appropriate action to take. He did not think invoking a physical conflict with the doctor was going to be productive, and there seemed to be no civil way to get McCoy to allow him to leave. And so the two stood in stalemate until Kirk emerged once more through the automatic doors. 

“Bones?” he called from the other room. 

“In here, Jim.” 

Kirk strode in, pushing past Bones towards Spock. This evoked an excellent example of an exaggeratedly Southern eye roll, which unfortunately went completely unnoticed. 

“Hey,” he said gently, putting his hands on Spock’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?” 

Spock cocked his head and looked over Kirk’s shoulder.

“I would recommend asking the doctor, as I am not sure myself.”

Kirk turned to Bones, face creased in worry, one hand still firmly on Spock’s shoulder. Bones grabbed one overfull shot in each hand and, careful not to spill anything, forced them onto Kirk and Spock. He crossed his arms and stood back. 

“Jim, have you ever asked to hold Spock’s hand?”

Kirk blinked, nonplussed. He let his hand fall from Spock’s shoulder and hang limply by his side.

“I mean I…we haven’t been…” he stammered. “I…suppose not?”

Bones nodded curtly. 

“And do you know why he hasn’t offered, despite the fact that he obviously wants to?”

“Bones, what does this have to do with—”

McCoy cut him off. 

“Spock, I believe this is your chance to explain. Unless, of course, you would like me to do it for you?”

Spock cleared his throat. 

“That will not be necessary, doctor.” 

“Good,” Bones said in his most genteel tone. “And now, I believe you have what you need,” he gestured to the shot glasses gripped in the couple’s bewildered hands, “and I will take what I need.”

With this, he grabbed the bottle of ambiguous liquid and stalked out of the room. Spock pushed past Kirk in an attempt to follow, but the door slid closed and his acute ears heard the magnetic lock click shut. He stopped barely a foot in front of the bemused Captain.

“Spock, what’s he on about?” Kirk asked, almost laughing. Spock could feel the tips of his ears growing warm. He stayed silent, facing away from Kirk, clutching the cool overfull glass. 

“You are familiar,” he began in a low murmur, “with the telepathic abilities of my race?”

“Ah, yes,” Kirk replied, slightly unsure. “Vulcans are...touch telepaths, correct?”

“Indeed.” Spock was growing warmer and warmer. Kirk came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Spock tensed, then relaxed into the warm grip. He turned towards Kirk, eyes downcast. He allowed his gaze to drift slowly up the soft body, green fabric just barely holding the fleshy curves at bay. “But…it is not quite as…simple as that,” he continued. “There are implications, both cultural and…biological, pertaining to the…”

He began to lose what he was trying to say. There was no simple way to explain this. Actually, there was a very simple way to, but he did not think he could handle it. 

“What are you trying to say, Spock?” Kirk asked, eyebrows knit in concern. Spock opened his mouth and was unable to continue. “Look, all right,” Kirk said, grabbing Spock’s arm and pulling him over to the nearest flat surface, which happened to be an examination table. Spock tried to keep the shot glass in his hand from dripping. He was partially successful. “Sit down. That might help.” Kirk jumped up onto the table and Spock lowered himself down beside his Captain. Kirk’s temptingly plump fingers rested on the fabric, disconcertingly close to Spock’s own hand. Spock watched the pinkish flesh pulse almost imperceptibly with the rush of Kirk’s red blood. He started again. 

“There is a difference between functionality and…non-functionality when it comes to a Vulcan’s hands. But the element that not many are aware of…”

Kirk took a slow sip of the mysterious liquid in the glass and found it to be exceedingly bitter, slightly smoky, and not altogether unpleasant. He waited for Spock to continue, fixing his gaze on a spot on the far wall. Spock watched his gentle fingers pulse and glow with Kirk’s golden psyche, trapped inside the soft flesh, and he couldn’t speak. He thought perhaps a demonstration would be logical. Slowly, he inched his cautious fingers across the dark fabric, drawn almost magnetically to the soft invisible glow of Kirk’s skin. His intentions were so overt, so messily concealed, that any Vulcan would have realized what he was doing long before his nerves had even brought the signal to his fingers. But Kirk was, as usual, oblivious to the workings of the psychic plane. Spock wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse. 

He didn’t have much time to contemplate, though, because the entire sickbay tipped to one side as the ship hit another wave of turbulence. The table which they had been sitting on spun violently on its axis and threw them both to the floor, Kirk sliding to land mostly on top of Spock, their torsos perpendicular to one another. Whatever expensive alcohol Bones had so generously forced on them was now soaking into their uniforms. Spock’s perfectly contoured cheeks were burning a deep emerald. Unaware of this, and not bothering to move off Spock, but just lying there on the floor, dripping with alcohol, Kirk started to laugh. Like a cool breeze cutting through the stifling heat of a Vulcan summer, the sound dispelled Spock’s embarrassment. Kirk let his back slide down Spock onto the floor, still chuckling, head coming to rest on the slender chest. He turned so their faces were a scant few inches apart, golden eyes sparkling with flecks of green. They stared at each other gently for a few tender seconds, then Kirk closed his shimmering eyes and leaned into Spock, pulling the icy lips in to meet his own. Spock, enjoying the embrace but in a rather awkward position, grabbed Kirk’s supine torso with one arm and pulled them up together so they were closer to a sitting position. Kirk twisted to press against him, still without breaking contact. Then, in what may have been the most impulsive decision of his life, Spock grabbed the hand that was currently working its way around onto his back and brought it out where he could reach it better, curling his long fingers around it sensuously. He let himself release some of his pent-up psychic energy into Kirk’s receptive flesh, and felt Kirk inhale sharply through his nose. Spock brought his index and middle fingers down the side of Kirk’s hand and around to rest gently on the increasingly sweaty human palm. He stroked the soft skin in delicate circles and Kirk pulled back from the Terran embrace. The two took a simultaneous shuddery breath and Kirk blinked, hard. When he opened his honey eyes again there were tiny sparkling tears at their corners. He began to murmur something, but Spock laid a slender finger across the barely parted lips. The two crept closer together, bodies sticking fast at their curves like magnetic strips lain next to each other. Spock opened the flow of consciousness slowly, cautiously, letting it drip through the fingertip connection. He didn’t want to rush anything. Kirk’s mind came drifting slowly into his, bumping up against Spock’s awareness like a raft being carried slowly down the eddies of a gentle river, brushing against islets as it passes. Spock could feel his confusion and his sudden understanding, could hear the rush of red blood in his ears, could catch the barest taste of his own tongue still lingering in the corners of his mouth. And for the slightest second, he could detect a deep, pulsating longing, seeming to waver in time with Spock’s breath. Or maybe he was just seeing his own longing reflected back at him. It didn’t matter. It was there, that was the important thing. 

Suddenly a rhythmic tremor shook the river of consciousness. Spock pulled himself out of the meld far enough to recognize it as a knock on the sickbay door. A seemingly angry one, at that. He shook himself free of the entanglement and slowly let Kirk go as well. Kirk drooped into Spock’s arms, gasping. 

“Are you two all right in there?” a disgruntled Southern voice called from the other side of the door. 

“We are fine, doctor,” Spock replied, forcing his voice not to tremble. He held Kirk’s shoulders tight, afraid he had gone too far too fast. “We will likely be better, however, if you will unlock the door.”  
There was a silence. Then, 

“Only if you promise me that if I walk in this door I’m not gonna see anything I’m gonna regret.” 

“You’re fine, Bones,” Kirk spoke up suddenly. His voice was loud and forceful as usual, but Spock thought he could detect the smallest tremor under the stoicism. After another moment of apparent consideration on the doctor’s part, the lock clicked and the door slid open. Bones walked in, apprehensively, to find Spock kneeling on the floor, holding Kirk against his torso. Both still were stained with Bones’ earlier gift. 

“Please tell me that’s brandy all over you two.”

Kirk laughed. 

“We had a bit of trouble with turbulence.”

Bones rolled his eyes. 

“You are both idiots,” he said with finality. “Now, Captain, was Mr. Spock’s explanation satisfactory, or do I need to intervene?” 

Kirk pulled himself out of Spock’s grip and stood. Spock rose to stand behind him. 

“Oh no, doctor, it was…quite satisfactory,” Kirk said with a grin. “In fact, I think I may ask him to…elaborate.” 

Bones watched as Kirk reached back and ran his index finger lightly down the length of Spock’s hand. Spock raised an eyebrow in what did not appear to be displeasure.

“Hey now,” Bones exclaimed, “what did I just say about not wanting to see anything? Take that filth to your quarters. And please,” he added, “spare me the details.” 

Kirk and Spock glanced at each other, lips silent but eyes laughing, and strode purposefully out of the bay. Bones watched them go and shook his head, trying to repress a smile.

“Good lord,” he sighed, “they really are perfect for each other.”


End file.
